


These Inconvenient Fireworks

by lady_ragnell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine offers to let Freya stay in his flat for the week before Merlin and Arthur's wedding. He doesn't expect to fall in love, but it's definitely a bonus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Inconvenient Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Some kissing while intoxicated, past minor character death, language.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/23407.html?thread=22775919#t22775919) at kinkme_merlin.
> 
> Title from Vienna Teng's "Stray Italian Greyhound," and the idea of books about cats with wings is Ursula K. LeGuin's.

_Monday_

When Gwaine comes into his usual pub out of the rain, the first thing he notices is that Halig has found some new girl to bother, and that this one doesn’t seem inclined to slap him like the incomparable Elena did a few weeks back. This one is small and dark-haired and leaning so far off her barstool it looks like she might fall. And for all Gwaine’s been called trouble by at least a dozen women in three languages, he can’t resist a damsel in distress, so he strolls up behind her and puts an arm around her waist just after she says something about waiting for someone, sliding his thumb to rest in her belt loop so he can lean down and whisper in her ear under the guise of kissing her neck. “Just play along, he’s bad news.” She stiffens, although Halig is thick enough not to notice. Gwaine raises his voice. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Are you making friends?”

“I was just going to find us a table.” She’s got an accent he can’t quite place, and when she turns around, forcing him to loose his grip a bit, she looks a bit more uncomfortable than his pride would like, as well as tousled and tired. Gwaine puts on his most charming smile, and her lips twitch in what looks like automatic response. She’s pretty as is, but he suspects she would be gorgeous if he could get her to smile properly.

“We can do it together, then.” He lets her go when she makes to stand up from her stool, and grins unrepentantly in the face of Halig’s glare. He’s made it a goal to thwart the man in every pull he tries to make. “Good to see you as always, Halig,” he says, and takes the woman’s hand to drag her away to a place where the shape of the wall will let him see the door while he waits for Merlin and Arthur and their guest and she can wait for whoever she’s waiting for. Gwaine drops her hand when they come to a stop, and tries not to be insulted when she steps back. “Are you really waiting for someone, or were you just trying to get rid of him?”

“I really am. Thank you for the help.”

Gwaine is about to ask if he can buy her a drink to make up for the scare, since Merlin is always late and even Arthur can’t change that, but as if that’s a cue, the pub door bursts open with the kind of enthusiasm that only Merlin can manage. Surprisingly, when they get through the door, the woman beside him waves before Gwaine can, which leads to Merlin practically bowling half the crowd over while he rushes to wrap the woman up in a hug while Arthur follows at a more sedate pace.

“Look at you,” Merlin whispers, which marks her pretty clearly as Freya, who’s just arrived in town today and will be staying until the wedding on Saturday, Merlin’s ex-girlfriend and a children’s author. She certainly isn’t what he was expecting, considering she writes books and draws pictures about flying cats. Although he probably shouldn’t have expected a plain, dotty lady with pictures of cats in her wallet, since Merlin used to date her. The shyness is a surprise, though.

“I’ve missed you,” she replies, and pulls a bit away from him when she notices that Arthur and Gwaine are watching them. “I’m so glad to see you,” she adds, and Gwaine steps on Arthur’s foot while Merlin hugs her again so he doesn’t get stupidly jealous and ruin the whole evening.

“I’m glad you decided to come early for the wedding.”

Arthur interrupts with a glare at Gwaine, which is better than continuing to glare at Freya, who looks a bit fragile. “He hasn’t shut up about it for days now,” he says, which is true, and shakes Freya’s hand when she pulls out of Merlin’s embrace. “Very hard to get him to talk about this weekend when he’s busy worrying about whether you and Morgana will get along. I’m pleased to meet you, by the way. I didn’t know you knew Gwaine.”

She looks at Gwaine and starts stammering something out, but he cuts in with an explanation, doing his best at being reassuring. He suspects he misses that mark and lands somewhere in the realm of “rakish,” since Merlin’s soppy smile melts a bit towards disapproval. “She just attracted a bit of attention from Halig, is all. I was being chivalrous.” He winks, as she was looking horrified and he can’t have that. “I’m Gwaine, sweetheart. Would have been even quicker to rescue you if I knew you were the famous Freya.”

Her smile is pained at best, probably still embarrassed at their first meeting. He wonders if he ought to tell her that he met Merlin and Arthur in the barfight that their third date had degenerated into and that her first impression was much better, then decides against it because Merlin is already turning pink and leaning back into Arthur. “Don’t embarrass her, Gwaine, I don’t talk about her that much.”

Arthur, after a second, seems to decide that he needn’t be jealous of Freya and Merlin, so he smiles in her direction. “Let’s get a table before they’re all gone, and you absolutely do talk about her that much. As if there’s a story you tell from uni that doesn’t have her in it somewhere.” He takes Merlin’s arm and starts leading him away. Gwaine thinks about offering Freya his arm, but she follows without even looking at him as Arthur keeps talking. “Did you two really run off to the Isle of Man for a summer and live in a commune?”

Freya’s smile lights up her whole face, and she even turns to look over her shoulder and include Gwaine in it just as they reach a table and start silently sorting out seats. “We really did. I worked the land, since my family farms, and Merlin mostly helped in the kitchen.” Gwaine can’t help laughing, and Arthur joins him, since Merlin’s recounting of that particular story always goes a bit differently. Freya winces apologetically as she sits down across from Merlin, and Gwaine sits down next to her. “He patched us all up when we got ill or hurt as well,” she adds when Merlin’s blush doesn’t subside in the least.

“Still does,” says Gwaine, grinning at her and then at Merlin, who is attempting to hide in Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur glares at him. “He met Arthur when he came into his clinic after an ex-girlfriend tried to drown him.”

Once again Freya smiles, although Merlin and Arthur are both looking a bit mortified now. “He called me to complain about the prat who came in and ordered him about, and then again two days later to say he asked him out.”

Merlin winces in a way that probably means Arthur kicked him under the table. Gwaine grins at them and lets Merlin change the subject with a bright smile. “What do you want to do while you’re in town, Freya?”

She shrugs and folds her hands in her lap. “Well, most of the time I’m available to help out with preparations for Saturday, if you need and extra pair of hands. I know Hunith is coming to town to help, but I thought I would make myself available as well. Other than that, I’ve got a meeting with my agent and he wants me to go to a party on Thursday night.”

“That’s right, you’re a writer. Children’s books, correct?” says Arthur, although he knows it already.

Freya nods, blush rising up her cheeks. “I never thought they’d get so popular. Just a few fancies that I wrote down and drew sketches for, and then Merlin forced me to finish them and send them out when he helped me move. The third book in the series is coming out next month, so the wedding is well-timed for me to get a few meetings in.”

From there, the talk is surprisingly easy. Gwaine gets their drinks and chips up at the bar, since Mary has a bit of a soft spot for him (especially since Merlin started wearing his engagement ring about and she stopped flirting with him) and he sometimes gets a bit of a discount, and they talk about the wedding and themselves until nearly midnight. Merlin is half-asleep on Arthur’s shoulder, since despite Gwaine’s best efforts he can’t hold his liquor, and Freya lets out an exaggerated yawn. “I suppose we ought to turn in for the night.”

Merlin looks blearily around. “Where’s your luggage?” he asks, like he’s expecting it to magically appear.

“At my hotel.”

Soft heart that he is, Merlin looks absolutely horrified at the thought of Freya staying in a hotel. “But you were meant to be staying with us!” Arthur squeezes his arm. “We’ve been planning on it.”

She reaches across the table and pats his hand. “And now your mother can stay there instead. I’ll be just fine in my hotel. I’ve stayed in them before.”

“But you can’t this time.”

Gwaine knows Merlin when he gets stubborn, but it makes more sense for Hunith to stay with the grooms, so he breaks into the conversation with another solution. He certainly wouldn’t be averse to spending a bit more time with the lovely Freya. “Can’t she stay with someone else?” All three of them immediately look at him with varying levels of suspicion. “I think Morgana has--”

“Not Morgana,” Merlin and Arthur say in unison. The way Freya’s eyes go wide suggests that Merlin tells her as much about them as he tells them about her.

“Well, then,” says Gwaine, and grins as he turns to Freya, who looks more than a bit wary. “I’ve got a spare room, since my flatmate moved out a few weeks back and I haven’t found a new one yet.” All of which even has the added bonus of being true. Elyan got a big engineering position in Birmingham and went right off. “You could stay with me. It’s mostly clean.” Although he’ll have to hope the dark will hide what mess there is tonight and clean before she gets up in the morning.

Merlin gives him a few seconds of his surprisingly convincing _if-you-fuck-with-her-I-will-end-you_ expression before relaxing into a tentative smile even as Freya says she can’t impose. “I’ve already paid for tonight, at least,” she adds when all three of them just look at her expectantly. Gwaine could tell her if she asked that she won’t win this one, but he lets it figure it out for herself. Sure enough, it’s only a few seconds before she lets out a breath. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll discuss it some more.”

Gwaine chooses to interpret that as wholesale surrender and takes it as his cue to stand from the table and start the round of goodbyes. Arthur goes off to pay the bill, leaving Freya looking uncomfortable. “He does that,” Gwaine assures her. “Best get used to it.”

“Bring your luggage to lunch with you tomorrow,” Merlin says as he hugs Freya again. “My mother will be there half past eleven, we’ll probably be serving food around noon. She’ll be glad to see you again.”

“I’ll be glad to see her as well.” Arthur reappears, looking as smug as always, and Freya turns to him. “And it was lovely to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for picking up the tab.”

That, Gwaine thinks, will ensure that Arthur is preening for days, but at least it means he won’t be giving Freya mistrustful looks all week. Much better for all of them. The goodbyes are easy, and Merlin and Arthur leave first on the short walk back to their flat, out into the London rain. That leaves Freya and Gwaine standing by the door. She breaks the silence first, peering outside. “It was good to meet you, Gwaine. I’m sure I’ll see you some more.”

“You might be staying with me,” he points out. Hopefully Merlin won’t decide overnight that he disapproves and call Gwen and Lancelot to see if Freya can stay in their spare room. “We’ll certainly see each other again.” It’s dark and from what Merlin’s said, she hasn’t lived in the city for over two years now, so Gwaine takes the opportunity to be chivalrous again. “Can I walk you to your hotel?”

Freya shakes her head. “I’ll just get a cab. Thanks for the offer, though.” She shakes his hand and steps out the door without further ado, pulling her coat tight around herself as she holds out a hand for a cab.

Gwaine watches her until the cab drives out of sight, then walks out the door and heads to his flat. At least he’s got more time to clean it, now.  
*  
 _Tuesday_

Gwaine’s phone rings at half past nine, blaring “Pinball Wizard” while he’s in the midst of running the vacuum through Elyan’s old room. Since that’s been Merlin’s ringtone for as long as they’ve known each other, he picks it up. “You’re awake,” Merlin says, sounding wrongfooted, after Gwaine’s cheerful hello.

“I am,” Gwaine agrees.

“You’re never awake before ten when you aren’t working.”

“I’m cleaning my flat.”

“Dear God,” says Merlin, then raises his voice when Arthur says something in the background. “Gwaine says he’s cleaning!” He lowers his voice again. “Are you all right? Have you been taken over by Pod People? Did a microbrewing project explode?”

Gwaine laughs. “If Freya is going to be staying with me for a few days, I thought I’d get the dust up off the floor, that’s all.”

There’s a pause. “Ah. Freya. That’s why I called, actually.”

“Of course it is. I’m not stupid, remember?” Gwaine sighs. “Here, I’ll save you the trouble. I’m to be a good lad and not torture the poor girl, yeah? She’s a fragile flower and I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Merlin snorts. “Gentleman? You?” Gwaine can hear Arthur laughing in the background. “Look, just don’t be a fuckwit. I’m not going to stop her staying with you or anything stupid like that, but she’s not had an easy time of it, and I’d rather not have her fleeing back to Hampshire before the wedding, that’s all.”

Gwaine doesn’t allow himself more than a second to wonder what Merlin means by that, since he talks about Freya all the time and never once mentioned her having troubles. It’s none of his business. “I’ll be good,” he promises instead.

“Great.” He can almost hear Merlin’s grin. “Now, Mum is getting here in a few hours, and she wants you to come to lunch. You can get Freya and her luggage at the same time if we manage to convince her she isn’t imposing.”

“I’m always glad to see Hunith. I’ll get there a bit before noon.”

“I’ll see you then.” Merlin laughs. “Good luck with your cleaning.” He hangs up before Gwaine can respond to that, and Gwaine rolls his eyes before turning the vacuum back on and continuing making the flat fit to live in.

By the time he heads over to Merlin and Arthur’s for lunch, just a few buildings away, the flat is as clean as it will get without a lot more work, and Gwaine gives himself a pat on the back for it before he leaves. When he gets there, Merlin is in the kitchen, Arthur is on the couch (obviously kicked out, since he burns toast), and Hunith greets him at the door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He gives her one in return. “Hunith! Your son has been keeping us from each other. This can’t be allowed.”

Hunith laughs, and he spends the next twenty minutes flirting with her while Merlin rolls his eyes and Arthur eventually gets up to put the salad together and start setting the table.

Freya knocks at noon on the dot, and Gwaine goes to the teapot so he can at least pretend to be useful. Hunith opens the door, revealing Freya looking a good deal more put-together than she did when he saw her last (which probably had something to do with the train journey from Hampshire, he realizes) and carrying a suitcase and a garment bag. She fumbles and nearly drops them when Hunith doesn’t even let her get the door closed before pulling her into a long hug, whispering something Gwaine can’t make out and kissing her forehead.

When they pull apart, Freya looks near tears, but Hunith gets her talking about her books and how popular they are at the creche she runs. “Ealdor isn’t that far from home,” says Freya after she’s put down her bags and taken off her jacket. “I’ll come do a reading when the third one comes out, if you like. Maybe draw some sketches for the kids. It’s the least I could do after you were so kind to me.”

“I’ll be glad to have you. You can stay a night or two.”

“Are you going to pour the tea, or are you just looking decorative?” Arthur asks, prodding Gwaine with his elbow. Gwaine prods him right back and starts setting out teacups while Merlin laughs at them and Hunith sits Freya down at the table and fusses over her, certainly more than she fussed over Gwaine. He tries not to be put out over that.

The next five minutes are full of chaos, even after Merlin banishes Arthur to sit with the ladies when he dares try to stir a pot. Gwaine gets everyone’s tea poured and sorted, kisses Freya’s hand in greeting, and gets a not-so-coincidental whack on the knuckles from Merlin’s cooking spoon five seconds later for some imagined transgression. Eventually, though, they manage to get food on the table, some sort of chicken dish that Gwaine would bet any money is mostly on the table so Merlin can show off a bit for his mum.

Talk over lunch is mostly about the wedding, catching Hunith and Freya up on whatever details Merlin didn’t tell them over the phone, so Gwaine pays more attention to his food than the conversation. He’s probably more excited for Saturday than Merlin and Arthur, at this point, if only so he can stop hearing about the wedding. All he’s heard since they got engaged is “I can’t believe we’re really going to be married” and “we’re going to be so happy” and very occasionally “oh, God, Gwaine, I can’t do this, if his sister doesn’t kill me his father will.”

When they finish eating, Freya stands up almost immediately. “I’ll wash the dishes.” Gwaine can’t help but be impressed when she stops Merlin three words into his protest with nothing but a raised hand. “You go ahead and catch up with your mother, Merlin, I know it’s been a while.”

“I’ll dry,” Gwaine offers. Merlin, Arthur, and Hunith all turn to stare at him. He gets a smile out of Freya, though, so he counts it as a net win. It’s becoming a bit too fun to jar her out of the frown she seems to default to when no one’s talking to her. He waits until Merlin and Hunith start talking about Arthur’s office and for Arthur to go off to call said office before he starts a conversation. “Have you thought any more about moving in with me for the week? It’s close by here, and I’ve got to be out and about some, so I won’t bother you too much.”

She scrubs at a stubborn spot on a plate before she answers. “What do you do, anyway? Merlin’s wonderful about telling me all sorts of hair-raising stories about what you all get up to, but he isn’t quite as good at basic facts. The first I heard about you was some sort of barfight in the middle of one of Merlin and Arthur’s dates.”

“Freelance travel writing, mostly. I just got back from Singapore two weeks ago, so I’m having a bit of a break while I get the article together. I’m free to squire you about the city, if you’d like.”

“I really can’t--”

“You’re not imposing.” Gwaine raises his voice to interrupt the quiet conversation in the living room, where Merlin and his mother are talking about people back in Ealdor. “Merlin, wouldn’t I tell Freya if she was imposing?”

“You sure didn’t hesitate to tell me when I was staying with you,” Merlin calls back without missing a beat.

“He stayed with me when he was on the outs with Arthur last autumn,” Gwaine explains. “And he spent the whole time moaning about how much he loves him. They’re a bit disgusting, really.” Freya actually giggles, and Gwaine hides his grin when he takes another dish from her. “So you don’t want to be staying with them. I can’t imagine how Hunith will stand it.”

“That wasn’t very subtle,” she points out, but she’s still smiling.

“I have many virtues. I wouldn’t call subtlety one of them.” Arthur, just coming back to the living room from his call, snorts. “You’d have the kitchen to yourself, I eat more takeaway than anything else for everything but breakfast, and you won’t have to travel all the way to a hotel every night.”

Gwaine knows the look of a woman who’s softening, but he tries not to let his triumph show quite yet. Instead, he lets Freya finish doing most of the dishes without talking about it again, just changes the subject to some of the articles he’s written, and the travel books that he’s been asked about, and he’s rewarded for his patience when Freya turns to him while she’s soaking a pot. “You’re sure you don’t mind me staying with you? I can pay a bit--”

He interrupts before she can talk herself out of it. “Just buy your own groceries and we’re square as far as I’m concerned.” After a second, she nods, and he holds out a hand, which she shakes with her soapy one. “We’ll get you moved into my place after Merlin sees fit to release us for the afternoon, then.”

“You’re released whenever,” Merlin calls. “Arthur’s got to go to the office for a few hours, and mum and I need to catch up a bit. We’re all having dinner with Uther and Morgana tonight. Freya, you don’t mind being left? I could call Uther and ask if he’d mind one more …”

Freya looks rightly horrified. Nobody, not even Arthur, spends more time with Uther than absolutely necessary. “I’ll be fine, Merlin. We’ll see each other tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Garvey at Avalon tomorrow, but after that if you want wedding help I’d be glad.”

“I feel terrible roping my ex-girlfriend into helping with my wedding, especially when it’s her first week in town for years.”

“It’s my excuse to see you,” says Freya, and rinses off the pot she’s been scrubbing, the last dish that Gwaine has to dry.

“You’ll have to come back sometime after the honeymoon. So we can talk properly when I’m not going a bit mad making sure there isn’t a disaster because this one wanted something fancy.” Merlin jerks his head in Arthur’s direction and gets a roll of the eyes in response.

Freya shakes her head and dries her hands. “The company is trying to talk me into going to a few bookstores to do readings even though I always choke up at them. Maybe I’ll do one in London so I can see you.” She turns to Gwaine. “Would you mind taking me to your flat? I didn’t sleep very well at the hotel last night and I wouldn’t mind a nap, actually.”

“That’s why you should have stayed with us,” mutters Merlin, but he gets up, followed by Hunith and Arthur, and comes over to hug Freya. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Dinner. It’s stag night after that, I’m afraid, and Gwaine’s planned it--”

“I got strippers, since neither of them will ever be with a woman again, unless they decide on a threesome,” Gwaine says cheerfully, winking at Freya and Hunith when they both look scandalized. “You’ll like Vivian,” he adds, and Arthur steps over to swat his arm while Hunith hugs Freya again.

Merlin catches Gwaine’s arm just as he’s about to step out the door after Freya, holding her suitcase since he insisted. “Be careful,” he whispers, and Gwaine gives him a mocking salute before walking out the door.  
*  
 _Wednesday_

Gwaine gets home from a meeting with Myror, who took the pictures for the Singapore trip, to find Freya curled up on his couch with a large sketchbook in her lap and coloured pencils scattered around. Since she spent most of Tuesday afternoon and evening shut in Elyan’s old room other than a few minutes in the kitchen with a pizza that she helped polish off surprisingly fast, that’s a bit of a shock.

She jumps a bit when he opens the door, but actually smiles at him without him teasing it out of her a second afterwards. “Character sketches for another book,” she explains before he can ask. “There’s always a scene or two with a crowd of the cats, and it’s good to have some background cats that I can put in easily.”

He decides to take that as an invitation and comes to peer over her shoulder to find a page full of winged cats in various poses. “Do you have a lot of cats, then?”

“A few neighbourhood strays I feed sometimes. None of my own.” This time, when she smiles, he catches sight of dimples, and she points at one particular figure on the sketchpad--a little black cat with big ears and a slightly startled look. “This one has shown up in every one of my books so far,” she says, and Gwaine realizes that if Merlin were a cat he would probably look exactly like that.

“Do you do everyone you meet like that?”

Her smile falls a bit, but she moves her feet off the end of the couch and he takes that as an invitation to sit down next to her and get a better look at her sketchbook. “I don’t meet many people, these days. But most people, yes.” She points at a bony, mean-looking old cat at the top of the page. “My agent.” A motherly gray tabby with neat wings and whiskers he recognizes as Hunith before Freya can say it.

The Merlin-cat is at the top of the page as well, with a yellow tabby grooming his wings. “You should give them a copy of that as a wedding gift,” he says, pointing to it. “Merlin will love it and Arthur will be mortified. Ideal situation, if you ask me.”

“I want Arthur to like me, though,” she says, and then moves her arm to point at another figure. “That’s you.”

Gwaine laughs when he sees it: apparently he’s a smoke-grey stray with a tattered ear and long whiskers, stalking another cat’s tail across the page. “It certainly is. You’ve got quite the gift for this.” He nudges her. “Where are you, then?”

Freya gives him a sidelong look he can’t quite read and then flips back a few pages to point at another figure. It’s a tiny tortoiseshell cat, barely bigger than a kitten, with big eyes and wings poised ready to fly off. “That’s me,” she says.

She looks so abashed about it that he has to jostle her shoulder and point at a particularly fierce-looking black cat with its ears flat back on its head. “And here I thought you were going to say this was the one. Seems to suit you.”

“She’s showed up a few times in the books, in the backgrounds like Merlin. Most of the ones in this sketchbook have, though.”

“Do you draw anything but cats?”

“It would get quite boring if I didn’t. This sketchbook is just for them, though, so I don’t get confused. I keep my other work in different places.” She sighs and leans back against the arm of the couch. “I’ve been drawing ever since I got back from my meeting with Mr. Garvey. I probably ought to stop.”

“We’ve a few hours yet until dinner. Do you have any plans?”

“I might take a walk. I don’t know this area of London very well, but it’s nice enough.” She shuts her sketchbook and starts picking up pencils. Gwaine fishes a few out from between his couch cushions. When he hands them to her, she bites her lip and then turns to face him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit odd this week. It’s just I haven’t met too many new people lately, like I said. I live in my parents’ old house in the countryside and there’s almost nobody in town who doesn’t know me. London’s a bit overwhelming, after all this time.”

“Just stick with me, sweetheart, and you’ll be fine. It’s my job to meet new people.” He decides not to ask why she moved out of London to stay in her parents’ old home, especially as they don’t live there any longer, since he suspects that would come under the heading of “being a fuckwit” and he doesn’t want Merlin to scold him. “I’ll stick by you at the wedding,” he says instead.

“You won’t be around tomorrow night, I’m afraid.” He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Avalon Press is having a party, and since my books are published through one of the imprints … Mr. Garvey has ordered me there on pain of extra book signings.”

“All the literary elite of London?” Gwaine asks. He’s been to a party or two like that himself, with whatever magazine has him hired at the moment.

Freya nods, looking more than a bit glum. “And they’ll all be very polite when they learn that I’m a children’s author and then go on to talk about their bestsellers. I can’t even ask Merlin to come, it’s the last night before the rehearsal and there’s plenty he’s got to be doing.”

“Ask me, then,” he says without even thinking about it. She drops her whole handful of coloured pencils. Gwaine grins at her. “I’ll go with you and we’ll get drunk off their champagne and talk about what they look like as cats. It’s not like I have any other plans.”

“But the wedding--”

“The stag night is tonight and even Merlin isn’t foolish enough to give me any responsibilities for the day itself.” He doesn’t quite tempt a smile at her for that, but she does relax a bit. “We’ll just stop in, make your agent happy, and remind the snobs that there are children all over Britain forcing their parents to read them your books every night.”

“Not just Britain,” says Freya, smile returning, even if it’s a bit tentative. “You’re sure you wouldn’t mind? I feel like I’m taking up a lot of your time this week, for a complete stranger.”

Gwaine flaps a hand in dismissal. “You aren’t a complete stranger, though. I know all about you from Merlin, we’ve been waiting to meet you for ages.”

She stiffens right back up at that. “All about me?”

If he didn’t already figure that there was some big mess in her past that even can’t-keep-a-secret-to-save-his-life Merlin has kept, that just confirms it. “Well, you know Merlin. Lots of good stories, rubbish at the facts of the matter. I only knew you were a writer beforehand because he saw your books in a shop once.”

“He didn’t give them to you for Christmas? He keeps swearing he’ll do that some year, give a copy to everyone he knows.” It takes her another few seconds, but she does start loosening up again. At this rate he’s going to have to call Merlin and ask which subjects to avoid for the next few days. He’s never had a woman flee from him in terror before, and he doesn’t plan to start now. “So, we’re agreed? I’ll take you to this party of yours.”

There’s a moment of silence, then: “We’re agreed. Thank you. Mr. Garvey probably would have insisted on introducing me around, otherwise, and he’s a bit creepy.”

“I’ll protect you from him, don’t worry.”

“I don’t need much protecting.” She stands up and sets her sketchbook on the coffee table, which is less a table and more a collection of books he doesn’t read very often with boards on top of them, since Elyan took the actual coffee table with him when he moved out. Perhaps he ought to do something about that soon. “Other than from Halig the other night, I guess. I’m better in that kind of situation if I’m actually allowed to beat them up.”

Gwaine can’t help staring a bit, because he was expecting many things but that was not one of them. Freya beats people up? “You beat people up?”

“I took a self-defense course when they offered it near where I live last year. Merlin said I should.” She goes bright pink and starts fidgeting where she stands. “The exam, for passing it, we were supposed to fight our way out of a little room using what we’d learnt. I knocked the instructor unconscious.”

“Remind me never to sneak up on you, then,” Gwaine says, trying not to show how impressed he is. It’s hard to imagine Freya knocking anyone out, but he definitely believes her. She wouldn’t be so embarrassed otherwise. “Was Merlin afraid you were going to be assaulted out there in the Hampshire countryside? I hear the sheep can be quite dangerous.”

Once again, she goes quiet, but she sits down on the couch again. “My parents were killed in a mugging. Almost two and a half years ago, now. I got … worried, sometimes. Merlin thought it would help. It did.”

“Obviously. And here I thought I was protecting you at this party.”

That, for once, is the right thing to say. “Like I said, it’s easier when I’m allowed to hurt them. That’s frowned on at parties.”

“Nobody would ever believe it was you who did it. I would get blamed and be kicked out and you would be free to pick more off.” Gwaine debates for a second, but he’ll feel like an arse forever if he doesn’t say this next bit, even if it makes her shut down again. “I’m sorry. About your parents.”

“Thank you. It’s getting better.” She stands again. “I bought a few packages of popcorn while I was out this morning. Would you want to share one? We’ve a while until dinner and I was just getting a bit hungry when you came in.”

Gwaine stands up as well. “I can’t cook, but I can work my own microwave. I’ll make the popcorn.”

“Okay.” Instead of disappearing back to Elyan’s old room, she follows him to the kitchen and leans on the fridge after pointing out which cupboard she stuck the popcorn in. “Tell me about Singapore,” she says after he’s pressed the buttons on the microwave, which was the first thing he replaced after Elyan moved out. “It’s been a while since I had an adventure.”

He tells her about Singapore over popcorn, and then when she keeps asking questions, he tells her about Bangladesh and Sri Lanka and Malawi and Peru and his upcoming trip to Egypt,. When that’s done, he coaxes her into telling him about the adventures she used to go on--the Isle of Man with Merlin, Spain in her last term of uni, but definitely nothing in the past two years.

They’re twenty minutes late for dinner, but Gwaine decides that Arthur’s glare and Merlin and Hunith’s identical worried looks are completely worth it. For the first time in quite a while, he’s more excited about a cocktail party than he is about a stag one.

 _Thursday_

An hour and three glasses of champagne into Freya’s party, Gwaine is ready to run for the hills. It’s not so much that it’s completely different from Merlin and Arthur’s stag night (although it is, considering there’s far less beer and loose women involved and this one won’t end up with a priceless phone call from Merlin in the morning asking why there’s a pair of women’s underwear stuck in his jeans pocket), which he still isn’t completely recovered from. It’s more that he’s never liked to stay someplace where his date is completely miserable.

Freya is, no question, completely miserable. She’s better at hiding it than Gwaine would have expected, chatting brightly with Killian Garvey (who is indeed a deeply creepy old fucker) and smiling shyly at everyone she’s introduced to, but he’s had a few days to get used to her. For one thing, she’s not the sort for bright chatter even with people she does know well, and for another she’s clutching her champagne glass so hard he’s a bit afraid she might break it. Most telling, however, is the fact that she’s clinging to Gwaine’s arm like she’s worried he’ll disappear, and while he’s flattered to be the least of a whole lot of evils he’s also relatively certain she wouldn’t be doing it if there were people she knew better around.

“Come on,” Gwaine whispers after a true crime writer named Aredian asks Freya about her “picture books” with a curl to his lip that makes everyone around them wince, leading her away from the clumps of people with an arm around her waist. “If we’re going to stay, you’re going to need to be a whole lot drunker.”

“The man in all the leather was staring down my dress,” she says mournfully, and perhaps she’s a bit tipsier than he thought. “Cenred? Was that his name?”

“Well, to be fair to him, it’s a very nice dress,” says Gwaine, signaling a waiter carrying a tray with red wine instead of champagne in the glasses. At least it will give them variety, and him something to concentrate on besides looking down Freya’s front, now that she’s mentioned it. The dress was distracting enough when she came out of her room earlier, the dark red making her look even paler than she already is, and he doesn’t need to think about it now that he’s a few glasses of champagne down.

“I’m wearing it to the wedding too. I haven’t got that many nice dresses.” She hands over her champagne glass when the waiter gestures for it and drinks half her glass of red in one gulp. Gwaine is beginning to suspect that this night is going to end badly.

“Merlin and Arthur will like it. Sometimes I wonder if they are actually aware that colours besides red and blue exist.”

He gets a real smile for that, the first one he’s seen all night. “I saw Merlin in a green shirt once, but he borrowed it off someone else so I don’t know if it counts. And he still had that brown jacket of his on.”

“He bought a new one last year. Arthur tried to talk him into something more fashionable.” He catches sight of Garvey heading in their direction. “The old dragon’s on his way over. How much longer are you expected to stay?”

That brings the glum look right back into her eyes. “Probably another hour at least.”

Gwaine debates the ethics of getting her drunk. On one hand, he suspects it will be the only way they’ll get through the rest of this party without Freya fretting herself half to death. On the other, he can picture Merlin’s maiden-auntish expression already when they arrive to help with last-minute wedding preparations in the morning and he doesn’t particularly want to deal with that, especially since Arthur gets cross when Merlin is cross. Then again, it’s not really his decision anyway. “Will it be easier if you’re smashed?”

“Probably not, but I intend to be anyway.”

“Cheers,” he says, and clinks his glass against hers, because he’s never claimed to be a good influence and after last night’s stag night he doesn’t think anyone of his acquaintance would argue that he is.

After another hour and more glasses of wine than Gwaine cares to count, Freya is certainly more than a bit tipsy. She isn’t loud or maudlin, but she’s swaying and she’s clinging even harder to his arm and is letting him take over more and more of the conversations Garvey tries to engage her in. When yet another editor dismisses her almost completely to ask Gwaine about last year’s article for the _National Geographic_ , Gwaine decides he’s had quite enough.

“Come on, sweetheart, time to go home,” he whispers in the lull between conversations, and doesn’t even think how domestic that sounds until Freya looks up at him wide-eyed. “There’s neurofen in my flat,” he adds. “And water. Lots of it, in fact. Merlin will scold me if we show up hungover tomorrow.”

“We probably should.” She grimaces. “I haven’t been this drunk in years.”

“It’s nice that I’m such a good influence on you.” Gwaine looks around. Garvey is talking to a woman with a lot of lipstick and a red dress, so the coast is probably clear. He puts his arm around Freya’s shoulders. “It looks like we’re clear. Ready to make a dash for the coat check?”

“Ready,” she says, and lets him drag her off.

The party is only a few stops on the Underground from Gwaine’s flat, but Freya needs to be manhandled into her coat and he decides it’s probably best if they take a cab. She doesn’t put up an objection when he flags one down, so he considers that permission to sit her in it and give the cabbie directions back to his flat.

Freya nods off on his shoulder while they drive, and if he didn’t think she would be horrified, Gwaine would just try to carry her up to his flat when they pull up there, but instead he gently shakes her awake while he pays the cabbie and takes her by the elbow to get her up the stairs. “Merlin is going to kill me,” he mutters, because she seems a bit more sober after her little kip in the cab, but that doesn’t stop the fact that he got her drunk.

“Merlin will think it’s funny. He always told me I’m a cheap date.”

“Guarantee you he’s cheaper,” says Gwaine, getting her through the door to his flat. “And he’s a mite protective of you nowadays.”

“It’s why I broke up with him,” she says, and Gwaine has to remind himself that she’s still drunk, and she isn’t saying this because she actually wants to confide. “I felt more like one of his patients than his girlfriend, by the end, after my parents died.”

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart. Have a seat on the couch while I get you some water.” Freya just looks at him for a moment, disconcertingly clear-eyed, before she stumbles her way into the living room, not bothering with the light. Gwaine goes to the kitchen and pours her a glass of water, finds her some neurofen; he won’t feel a thing in the morning, since it takes a bit more than a few glasses of wine to get him drunk these days, but he doubts she’ll have that benefit.

She takes the pills without objecting, seeming a little more herself. “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” she says once she’s finished off the water. “I will still be there, and probably miserable, otherwise. I owe you a great deal for this week.”

He wants to sit down on the couch with her, maybe have a chat like they did yesterday, but if she keeps looking at him with those big eyes of hers, he has a suspicion that he’s going to do something stupid. Gwaine thinks very carefully about spending a day dealing with Merlin and Arthur glaring and Hunith giving him disappointed looks every few seconds. “My pleasure. Now let’s get ready for bed, Merlin is expecting us in the morning.”

“We’re just there to keep him from panicking,” says Freya. “He won’t care if we’re late.”

“Yes, he will. He’ll think I’ve ravished you of your virtue.”

“Protective,” she mutters, but when Gwaine holds out a hand to bring her to her feet, she takes it, and only stumbles a bit taking her own weight. That’s likely because she’s tired, not because of the drink, but he can’t be sure, so he prods her in the direction of the bathroom and changes out of his suit while she does whatever mystical feminine rituals she needs to get through the night.

He steps out into the hall just as she comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and hair down and looking a bit surer on her feet. “Sleep well,” he says before he can say or do anything that Merlin is going to classify as “being a fuckwit.”

Freya doesn’t answer. Instead, apparently between one blink and the next, she’s right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, pulling his mouth down to hers and giving him a slow kiss from just-parted lips. It’s certainly not the most expert he’s had, but it doesn’t much matter when she’s warm and soft and he can feel the shape of her smile against his mouth. For about five seconds, he relaxes into the wall at his back, chasing the taste of mint from when she brushed her teeth, winding his fingers in her hair.

Then he remembers that just because she doesn’t taste of it doesn’t mean all the wine he slipped her at the party magically disappeared, and that chances are in the morning she’ll be horrified at herself. Gwaine’s not very good at being a gentleman, but despite what Merlin and Arthur may claim he does try not to be an arsehole. He lets it go on just another second before moving his hands to gently push Freya away. “Very bad idea,” he whispers.

Freya steps away so fast it looks like he pushed her, even though he knows he didn’t. When he reaches out to remind her that she admitted herself that she’s drunk and that he’d be more than happy to take it up again tomorrow, she just wraps her arms around her middle. “I’m not a child,” she says softly.

“You’re drunk,” and yes, he could phrase it with more tact, but he’s only human and he’s been drinking as well and every instinct he’s got is shouting at him for being four feet from Freya right now. She winces like he hit her. Gwaine runs a hand through his hair and musters up what charm he can. “Look, if you still want to do this in the morning, I will personally call Merlin and Arthur and tell them I’m deathly ill and you’re tending to me so we can skive off everything. Just not right now.”

“Fine.” She turns around and walks, a bit unsteadily, towards Elyan’s old room.

“Good night,” says Gwaine, since there isn’t much else to say. She doesn’t bother answering, just shuts the door softly behind her. Gwaine goes to the bathroom and cleans his teeth, then stands in the hall like an idiot for a good two minutes when he’s done, but there isn’t so much as a rustle from Freya’s room. He wants to knock and apologize, but it certainly isn’t the time for that conversation, and he doesn’t know if she’s the sort to forget the morning after she drinks.

This, he decides as he goes into his bedroom, definitely qualifies as being a fuckwit.  
*  
 _Friday_

“Merlin is going to kill you,” Arthur says in tones of deep disinterest the second Gwaine walks into their flat.

Considering Gwaine is half an hour late and seems to have misplaced Freya, that bit of information is not surprising. Especially if Freya left all her things and fled back to Hampshire in the wake of last night, which he has a suspicion might have happened. “I could take him,” he says. “And besides, if he kills me he’ll never find out which stripper’s panties those were.” They were actually ones Gwaine bought before the stag night for precisely that purpose, but he doesn’t intend to share that until their tenth anniversary party.

Arthur’s lips twitch, because for all he gets tetchy if anyone teases Merlin, he thinks it’s hilarious to take the piss out of him himself and Gwaine has given him fodder for _years_. “You’re lucky Hunith is out having brunch with a school friend.”

“Where’s the groom, then, if he’s going to murder me?”

“He is in our bedroom with Freya and a box of tissues.”

Gwaine opens his mouth and closes it again a few times. Well, at least she hasn’t run off to Hampshire. “Ah,” he says at last. “For the record, I didn’t assault her virtue or anything.”

“From what I caught before Merlin ushered her off, that seems to be the problem.”

Gwaine collapses into one of their chairs, which are much more comfortable than the ones in his flat. He really needs new furniture. Or just a different flat, since he can’t afford the one he’s got now on his own forever. “I can’t win.”

“I’m getting married tomorrow. I give not a single fuck about whatever drama this is. Keep Merlin happy until we leave for the honeymoon and you and Freya can dance around each other all you like, as far as I’m concerned.”

“We aren’t dancing,” he objects, and then can’t resist a joke, because he’s sorry about last night but not that sorry. “Well, a bit of a polka, maybe. Not a tango or anything.”

“The polka is rather a happy dance.” Arthur has an annoying talent (probably picked up from Morgana) for implying rather a lot with simple statements. That combined with the mention of a box of tissues doesn’t give Gwaine a very good picture of the state Freya’s in.

“Fuck, what a mess.” He’s been trying all week to get her to smile at him, and now it seems he’s back at square one, or even several squares before that. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer to spare, would you?”

“Merlin says he’s never drinking again and poured out all the alcohol.” Arthur grins at him. “Expect him to call you tonight while I’m staying with my father and ask for a bottle of something strong, though. We’ve had almost a week since his last attack of cold feet and I’m betting we’re due for a bad one sometime before tomorrow afternoon.”

After a moment, Gwaine decides not to bring up the fact that Arthur was the one who went on a five-minute rant in between puking at the stag night about how he doesn’t know how Merlin puts up with him, because Merlin definitely isn’t on his side today and if he plays his cards right Arthur might actually be. “I won’t bring him anything, no need to have a hungover groom.”

Merlin comes out of their bedroom and fixes Gwaine with a glare that just dares him to say something flippant. Gwaine almost does, just to see if Merlin actually will shout at him, but then Freya appears behind him. She looks ragged, and he hopes at least some of it is from the hangover or otherwise he will feel like the biggest arsehole to ever live. He decides to speak before either of them can. “Would have got here sooner, but I was …” He pauses, but Arthur’s soft snort goads him on. “I was looking for you, actually,” he tells Freya. “Should have thought to call over here.”

“You and I are going to have words,” Merlin says in the tone that always reminds Gwaine that Merlin once gave a man who came into his clinic to harass a patient a concussion and more than a few bruises. “Arthur, Gwaine and I will meet you at your dad’s place in a bit. Freya’s offered to help with the flowers.”

“Don’t kill him, I have every intention of putting him on Morgana duty,” says Arthur cheerfully, and stands up to go over to Merlin and murmur in his ear while Merlin looks progressively less dangerous and more besotted and Freya and Gwaine stand in awkward silence. “Right, then. Coming, Freya?”

Merlin kisses Freya on the cheek and gives her a gentle shove in the direction of the door, Arthur a few steps behind her after giving Merlin one more kiss. Gwaine gives Arthur a wave and tries to catch Freya’s eye, but she leaves without looking at him. When they’ve gone down the hall and out of earshot, Gwaine turns to Merlin.

For a few seconds, he wonders if Merlin is actually going to hit him. Then he realizes that Merlin is getting married tomorrow and even for Freya he won’t risk showing up at the ceremony with a black eye, and for all he’s more badass than he looks Gwaine sure isn’t useless. Eventually, though, Merlin’s face softens. “You’ve got to be careful with her. She thinks you hate her now.”

“I told her that if she wanted to in the morning I would be more than glad but that I wouldn’t do it while she was drunk. A bit hard to misconstrue, that.”

“Except when I’ve spent a year and a half telling her about your escapades and she knows what a flirt you are.” Merlin walks across the flat into the kitchen, where the kettle is still warm enough for him to poor himself a cuppa. Gwaine wonders if it would be pushing his luck to ask for one too. “She heard all about you because she thought it was funny and it took a good deal to make Freya happy. It’s better now than it was, but it means she’s got a lot of stories about you.”

Gwaine tries not to be pissed at Merlin, because he’s getting to know what it takes to make Freya smile and he would do it too, even if it is rather fucking things up now. “You did tell her my virtue hasn’t been tarnished or anything because she kissed me, right?”

“Did you mean it?” Merlin asks, and Gwaine doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I won’t tell you off for getting her drunk, since she said that was her choice and then spent five minutes telling me she’s not a child, but if you’re leading her on I’m going to move her out of your flat. She and I can bunk down tonight since Arthur won’t be here.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to propose, Merlin, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. I know you get protective of her, and if you don’t want to tell me the whole story, that’s fine, I’ll get her to tell me eventually, but like she said, she’s a grown woman. We can work it out ourselves.”

Merlin finishes off his cup of tea in a few quick gulps before he speaks again. “She likes you, Gwaine. She’s a bit terrified because she hasn’t dated anyone since me, but she does. And she leaves for Hampshire on Sunday morning. Try to work it out before then, won’t you?”

“We’ll work it out,” promises Gwaine, and Merlin smiles at him. “Now, shall we go give the poor girl some backup before Morgana and Uther terrify her to death?”

“I wouldn’t have sent her with Arthur if Gwen weren’t there, but we should.”

That signals a truce, and they talk about everything but Freya on the way to Arthur’s father’s house, and when they get there they find Gwen, Freya and Arthur arranging table centerpieces while Morgana harangues someone on the phone and Uther stands by looking intimidating and making pointed remarks about how they should have hired a wedding planner.

Merlin gives Gwaine an eloquent look that Gwaine is completely at a loss to translate. He sits down at the table and pulls a pile of ribbons towards him, since that seems to be the last step in the assembly line and he can’t mess up tying bows. As that makes Merlin beam at him, he figures he’s on the right track. “Ladies,” he says, giving Arthur his most obnoxious grin.

“I am going to uninvite you from the wedding,” says Arthur without heat.

“I planned your stag night, mate, I don’t think you can rescind your invitation now.” He takes the pot of flowers that Freya passes him and tosses a ribbon around it.

It’s under five seconds before she removes it gently from his grasp. “Not like that, it’s not like tying your shoes.” She undoes his work and puts the ribbon back on much more carefully, smoothing it out and making sure the right side is facing out all the way round. When that’s done, she ties it in a big floppy bow. “There.”

Merlin slides into Arthur’s lap, which means neither of them is going to get a thing done. Uther looks like he swallowed a lemon from where he’s lurking in a chair. Morgana lets out a huff and stalks out of the room. Merlin makes a face after her, then turns back to Gwaine, who is following exactly what Freya just did and trying not to laugh because bows aren’t exactly serious business. “This better?” he asks after doing another.

Gwen reaches across the table and actually fluffs the bow up, then nods and shunts it towards the pile of finished ones. He keeps looking at Freya, though, until she nods as well, even if she isn’t looking at him still. There’s time for that.

It’s a quiet day, mostly. Uther stalks in and out looking more disapproving with every fight that Gwaine starts with the supplies for whatever task Merlin and Arthur set (which is worth it because Freya eventually gives in and pelts him with some of the grains of rice that Hunith insisted on them putting in little bags to give the guests). Hunith arrives in the early afternoon, bringing organization and relieving Gwen of the burden of trying to make them all act like adults.

Eventually, Morgana arrives again and declares that dinner is ready, and they all troop into the dining room, where she presides over the meal looking exactly as gorgeous and terrifying as ever. Hunith takes one for the team and engages Uther in extremely awkward conversation, leaving the rest of them to chat about wedding business and the fact that, miraculously, until they go to the hotel where they’re having the reception to set a few things out and make sure the catering is under control, they don’t have anything left to do. Freya turns down the wine, so Gwaine does as well, which startles everyone but Uther.

It’s halfway through dinner before Freya starts really joining the conversation, and Gwaine and Merlin spend the first half trying to get her to talk without actually harassing her. It’s Morgana, however, with a carefully indifferent comment about how much the child she mentors enjoys Freya’s books and wondering if she would consider writing any slightly longer ones for older children, that actually gets her talking. Morgana, for all she’s a bitch, always knows exactly how to set people at ease.

Freya even starts talking to Gwaine, after Merlin elbows her. He carefully skirts the issue of what happened after the party, although he intends to mention it at some point when they’re in private and bring up perhaps doing it again, without the wine and misery this time.

Instead, he waits until everyone else is talking about something to do with Merlin and Arthur’s honeymoon to lean close to Freya. “Are you coming home tonight? To my flat, I mean?”

“If you’re sure you want me there,” she replies, and it occurs to Gwaine that she really does think he rejected her last night, or that she assaulted his nonexistent virtue or something ridiculous like that.

“Definitely,” he says, a bit too loud since Merlin gives them a sharp glance that softens a bit when he sees how close together they’re sitting. Gwaine gives him a quick smile when Freya turns back to her plate for a second. “Otherwise you’ll spend the whole night listening to Merlin whine about stupid tradition and why can’t he and Arthur just spend the night together like always,” he says a bit louder, more for Merlin’s benefit than Freya’s.

“Bad luck,” Arthur calls down the table. “Some things I have to insist on.”

“Of course, princess,” Gwaine says easily, and he doesn’t miss a second of Freya’s smile.  
*  
 _Saturday_

Despite everything (despite a panicked call at four in the morning from Merlin that Gwaine eventually had to pass off to Freya when she came to see what the matter was since he’s rubbish at being soothing, despite a fucking ridiculous morning at the hotel where they made sure everything was set up without letting Arthur and Merlin see each other because Arthur is superstitious and will never be able to call Merlin a girl again, despite Morgause intimidating all the guests as they walk in), the wedding is a bit magical. Leon’s the registrar, running the ceremony in his gruff, quiet way while Merlin and Arthur stand there looking a bit bewildered and saying what’s required when prompted. Their vows aren’t anything to write home about, although Merlin manages to call Arthur a prat in his, but nearly everyone cries anyway (including Merlin, a bit, which he will probably deny to his grave). Gwaine’s managed to snag a seat next to Freya and he shoves her with his shoulder when the tears get to be a bit much, earning a tiny smile in return.

At last, Merlin and Arthur sign the register and Hunith and Gwen step up to sign as witnesses while Uther and Morgana glare because there were two weeks of rows when Arthur chose Gwen as his witness instead of a family member. Gwaine grabs on to Freya’s arm the second everyone starts standing up to congratulate the grooms. “If we stay, Merlin will make us get in the pictures. Want to scarper off and pretend to supervise the catering staff?”

She’s still not talking to him much, so it’s a bit of a risk, but he’s rewarded when she nods fervently and nods to the nearest exit, a side one that nobody is going towards. Gwaine catches Lancelot’s eye and points to the door, grins when Lance looks disapproving, and follows Freya out the door to make the one-block walk to the hotel.

By the time the guests start arriving, Gwaine and Freya are sampling the finger foods that are around to keep everyone occupied before dinner. He’s making a point of not mentioning Thursday, and Freya is unbending more all the time. If he had another week he might convince her to actually talk with him properly again. Unfortunately, he doesn’t, since she’s going back to Hampshire on Sunday, which means he’s got the reception and the night after it to come up with a clever plan. As long as clever plans aren’t forthcoming, though, he enjoys the finger foods, and makes Freya try everything as well.

Merlin and Arthur, along with their families, Gwen, Lancelot, Leon, and inexplicably Morgause, arrive last, probably because the photographer was harrying them as Merlin and Arthur are incapable of taking a picture where one of them isn’t making a face. Freya stands up the second they walk in, probably feeling guilty that Gwaine dragged her away from the church before she could congratulate them, and to Gwaine’s surprise she turns and looks at him expectantly before walking away. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Gwaine finishes his bite of an hors d’oeuvre and follows her.

When they get there, Gwaine fighting his way through the crowd of well-wishers with judicious use of his elbows while Freya just sort of slips through, Merlin gives them what Gwaine suspects would be a glare if he didn’t look so ridiculously besotted. “You two certainly got out of there fast enough,” he observes.

“I was afraid I would get struck by lightning if I stayed in there too much longer,” says Gwaine cheerfully, and gives Merlin a hug and Arthur a clap on the back.

“It wasn’t a church, you knob,” says Arthur, which makes Morgana smack him on the arm. Merlin is busy hugging Freya while she whispers her congratulations or he would likely be the one to do it. “You just wanted to get first crack at the food.”

“Truth is I couldn’t stand to look at you two staring at each other like you’re made of rainbows and candyfloss for too much longer.”

“Like you’re so much better,” Merlin says with a pointed look at Freya, who blinks between them. Gwaine winces. “Anyway,” he adds far too brightly, apparently having figured out that Gwaine didn’t use their early departure from the wedding to woo Freya, “I’ve got plenty of guests to greet, I’ll talk to you two later. Freya, save me a dance?”

Freya nods, although she still seems a bit inclined to give Gwaine uncertain looks every few seconds, but she follows his example when he hugs Hunith and retreats to the table they’ve been assigned for dinner, the one right next to the grooms and their families. Neither of them speaks until they get there, and even then there’s a bit of an awkward silence. Freya, miraculously, breaks it first. “So, who was that blonde woman next to Morgana? I’ve seen her around, but I haven’t met her yet.”

It’s not exactly the subject he was hoping to discuss, but there’s a whole wedding reception for that. “That’s Morgause. She’s Morgana’s half-sister, but not Arthur’s. They have a complicated family.”

Freya looks across the room, where Morgana and Morgause are standing with their heads bent together, probably plotting the demise of the government, and giggling. “Sisters?”

“They have a complicated family,” Gwaine repeats, because he has no idea what’s going on and doesn’t especially care to know. He’s a bit more worried about trying to work the conversation around to telling Freya not to drink too much champagne so they can work out the kissing thing sober this time.

However, it turns out that a wedding reception is not the easiest place to have that sort of discussion, because of course everyone seems bound and determined to tell everyone else just how lovely the wedding was. Which of course it was, and probably would have been if they’d just stopped at the registry office in jeans and trainers, but after the third time hearing it Gwaine gets more than a bit annoyed. Especially because everyone’s called to sit down for dinner before he can find a lull in the conversations to talk properly with Freya.

The table contains Elyan and Percival and the incomparable Elena, as well as a school friend of Merlin’s named Gilli who Freya seems to know a bit. Freya opens up a bit throughout dinner and the toasts (of which Gwaine is not allowed to give one because Merlin and Arthur are obviously cowards and afraid that he would mention several things he has promised not to mention again. Which of course he would, but he’s still a bit miffed he doesn’t get to give a speech), but she still talks to Gwaine the most. He’s a bit proud of that, and he can tell everybody else notices.

When the dancing starts, Gwaine loses track of Freya for a while. He dances with Hunith, Elena, Morgana (who glares at him the whole time) and both grooms (he lets Merlin lead but insists on leading with Arthur, who thus also glares at him the whole time), before going off to find his wallflower, who danced once with Merlin and then disappeared.

As he might have guessed, she’s halfway hidden behind the drapes near the door, which are of course red and thus match her dress. “Care to dance?” he asks when she nods at him.

“I’m not a very good dancer.”

Gwaine looks pointedly at the dance floor, where Merlin is tripping over Arthur ever three seconds while Arthur just continues to look a bit concussed with happiness, and where Elyan is doing some sort of confused bunny hop with Elena. “We’ll stumble through somehow. Come on, sweetheart, just one dance.”

When she nods, Gwaine doesn’t wait for the next song to start before he takes her arm and half-drags her to the dance floor. She is, it seems, from the Merlin school of dance, but they start getting on much better when he takes most of the weight off her feet and she lets him close most of the distance between them. “I’m due to go back to Hampshire in the morning,” she says after a while, so quietly he almost wonders if she’s actually talking to him.

“If you want to stay, though, I’m glad to have you around for longer.” She doesn’t quite look up at him, but she isn’t saying no and telling him she really can’t impose any longer, so he decides to push his luck a bit. “I don’t leave for Egypt for another month, and I’ll bet your agent would find you things to do, as long as you promise not to go to any more parties. Those don’t end well for us.”

“I’m sorry about the other night,” she says, and bites her lip. “I’d drunk too much, and you were being so kind …”

“I’d love to try it again without the drinking part,” he answers, which immediately makes her look a bit panicky. Gwaine mentally curses Merlin and his insinuations that Freya is interested. “Unless you don’t want to,” he amends, because he doesn’t want to terrify her.

Gwaine can’t see properly with the lighting on the dance floor, but he doesn’t need it to tell him Freya is blushing. “It’s been a while, and Merlin talks about you …”

“Listen to me, not Merlin. He grossly misinterprets my character.” And Gwaine may be a flirt, but he doesn’t spend nearly a week trying to coax smiles out of most women, or stoop to asking Merlin for advice about them, or invite them to stay at his flat without ever having met them before, no matter what Merlin and Arthur say. “Come on, have an adventure. Take a chance. If I prove to be a bastard, we’ll figure out a custody arrangement for Merlin.”

Freya laughs, and the smile lingers more than a few seconds this time as the music changes. He doesn’t let her go. “This is the most adventure I’ve had in two years.”

Someday he’ll get the whole story out of her, of what happened to make her leave London and what Merlin had to do with all of it, but it isn’t important right now, and he’d like to keep her smiling even longer if he can. “We’ll just have to get you some more, then. Perhaps you should research new locations for those cats of yours to visit.” He pauses. “They used to worship cats in Egypt, you know.”

“I know,” Freya says, and kisses him again. This time, any stumbling is completely his fault as their swaying stutters to a halt and he adjusts his grip on her, and she doesn’t taste in the least like champagne. She pulls away first, all ready to start stammering another apology. Gwaine kisses her instead, bending instead of making her reach up, and then going the extra step and bending her a bit backwards when she doesn’t pull away.

“Adventure enough for you?” he asks when he remembers that a few of the guests have small children who might start asking awkward questions.

“I think so.”

Gwaine looks around the dance floor. They’ve certainly been noticed. Merlin is giving him a completely unsubtle thumbs up, Arthur is rolling his eyes, and Elena seems to have collapsed in a fit of hysterical giggles, leaning on Leon for balance. Freya follows his gaze and turns her face into his shoulder from embarrassment. He certainly doesn’t object. “They’ll be cutting the cake soon,” he says, mostly to change the subject before she tries to sink through the floor. “Shall we dance until that starts?”

“Okay,” says Freya, and she still looks uncertain, but this time she leans into him without any hesitation at all.  
*  
 _Sunday (but not the next day)_

Gwaine wakes up alone in bed with his face smashed in a pillow and the noise of Mombasa’s streets right outside his window. The latter two circumstances have become familiar over the last three weeks, but the first is disappointing. And probably means that he slept in later than he meant to. He groans himself properly awake.

“I wondered when you’d wake,” says Freya, and he can tell without lifting his head that she’s smiling. He lifts his head anyway, though, and finds her perched on the windowsill with a sketchbook on her lap. It’s her cat one, which means she wasn’t drawing him while he slept, disappointingly enough. “You slept through the cool part of the morning.”

Gwaine rolls over to his back and props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t have any interviews or sights to see today, so I have every right. Why aren’t you having a lie-in? Come over here, I don’t like waking up alone.”

“You would stay in bed all day if you could,” she says, but she shuts her sketchbook and comes to sit on the edge of his bed, and doesn’t even use her ninja skills to avoid being pulled to sprawl across him.

“Only if you stayed with me.” Her hair is wet, which means he’s missed a shower as well. “What were you drawing?”

“A few ideas for the books for the older children that Mr. Garvey wants me to try. I think it might work.” She attempts to free herself and he just holds on tighter. He’ll make her have a lazy Sunday morning someday. He suspects today will not be that day, but he’s willing to try. “Merlin e-mailed. Says to tell you to finish your article, he misses talking to me.”

“Tell him to drag his grumpy wife down here for a visit, it will do wonders for Arthur’s disposition, not to mention those of everyone in his office.”

She laughs. “I think Gwen is pregnant. Neither of them will be leaving London, let alone the country, until the baby is safely born. They’re going to spoil the child rotten.”

“So are we,” Gwaine points out. “You’re cool Aunt Freya who writes the books about kittens, and I’m cool Uncle Gwaine who’ll teach the brat how to swear in fifteen languages.”

“If Gwen has any sense, she won’t let you anywhere near it until it’s twenty, at least.” Gwaine kisses her forehead and Freya finally stops gently trying to remove herself from bed. That means he’s won the morning. Or possibly the day. It depends on whether he can tempt her into sloth and eating the slightly stale crisps they’ve got for food in their room. He doubts it, but it’s worth a shot. “I think the books for the older children are going to be about the Merlin cat and the Arthur cat. They would have good adventures.”

“Adventures for children?” She grimaces, and he laughs. “Although Mr. Garvey loved them an absurd amount at that party you made them go to, so he might not object to a little more …”

“For children just barely old enough for chapter books,” she reminds him, as if he didn’t know. “And that’s disturbing.”

“Why can’t it be us?” he asks, because she’s got pages in her sketchbook full of his cat flopping about, usually while hers watches. Freya clambers over him, apparently resigned to being kept in bed for a while and unwilling to fall off the bed in the midst of it. “I make a very dashing cat.”

“Maybe us too. Maybe all of us. Visiting far-off locales.” She looks out the window.

“Wherever I happen to be at the time?” Gwaine asks, as a bit of a risk. Freya went with him to Egypt a month after meeting him, he’s spent weeks at her house in Hampshire and she’s often in London, she’s come with him to Mombasa, but neither of them is given to grand declarations like Merlin or Arthur tend to be.

“You should try to get an assignment somewhere a bit less sweltering,” she says by way of answer. “I hear Iceland is nice. Or Norway.”

“Maybe by a lake. You like lakes.” Freya laughs a bit and shoves him gently, not enough to mean business. And he knows when she means business. He tried to sneak up on her while she was sketching a few days ago and the next thing he knew he was staring up at the sky, completely bemused and definitely impressed. “I’ll let you choose.”

Both of them know that’s not true, since for all his writing is freelance he does have to take assignments and offers that will actually interest people or find his ability to travel very much curtailed, but neither of them mentions that. “Iceland, then,” she says. “We’ll go to the hot springs.”

“And then America. Vegas.” Freya stiffens. “Not for that.” For a few years, at least, and isn’t that a terrifying thought. Merlin and Arthur are going to mock him forever for giving up his bachelorhood. “I just love it there, it’s tacky.”

“Italy,” she counters. “I want to see Tuscany.”

“Rio.”

“Do you plan to go anywhere you won’t be arrested? New Zealand.”

They can play this game for hours, sometimes, mostly when they’re up late and staring at the ceiling, naming off places they want to go someday. But it’s a hot morning and she’s barely stopped smiling since he woke up, so Gwaine doesn’t name off Madagascar or Tahiti or Dublin so she can meet his gran, the only family he cares to talk to most days. “I love you,” he says instead.

“Oh.” She turns to face him properly, and she’s wide-eyed and biting her lip, but she isn’t running or telling him it’s too soon. “I--”

“Surprise me,” says Gwaine easily. They’ve done everything else backwards and out of order and like no one else, so he isn’t expecting rosebuds and tearful confessions right now. He would have actually gone and bought some sodding flowers, were that the case. “It’s always better to hear it as a surprise, the first time.”

Freya’s smile is a little tearful, but she doesn’t look upset. Gwaine knows she’ll tell him someday, and it’s just a matter of waiting for it. Maybe it will be a rainy afternoon in his London flat, or later this week when they go to the Nature Preserve to see if they can find some lions, or while they’re swimming in the warm ocean somewhere. Now, though, she’s cupping his face and kissing him, hard and sweet, and it doesn’t matter that she hasn’t said it, because Gwaine knows.


End file.
